


Codename: Princess

by scherryzade



Category: Brave (2012), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: I'm pretty sure this isn't what they mean by 'Special Relationship', It was meant to be crack but it got away from me, and after it, but there's some unethical stuff being discussed, hugely unethical scientific experimentation, some really hinky shit went down during the Cold War, test-tube superspies, there isn't a lot actually happens in this story, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scherryzade/pseuds/scherryzade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We both know that certain things slipped through the cracks when the Cold War ended."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Codename: Princess

**Author's Note:**

> So: In my defense, I'm not the first person to think of this, therefore it is not my fault (I'm looking at you, Tumblr :\ ). But instead of taking 'Clint + Natasha = Merida' and coming up with cutesome fluff, I end up writing 1500 words talking about the creepy British science experiment that took that equation a little too literally...
> 
> (If that bothers you, have some [cutesome fluff](http://fuckyeahclintnatasha.tumblr.com/post/24198700677/dappernation-avengers-brave-crossover-merida) instead)
> 
> I'm being non-specific about the British element - look out for the bonus fandom! It's my personal headcanon that the British intelligence community is slightly delusional about Britain's post-imperial status, and thinks that they should be getting as many supersoldiers and superspies as the Americans, and that this occassionally goes horribly wrong...

In a small, tidy room in a quiet, industrious corner of Whitehall, a man and a woman sit at an unremarkable desk. The man takes delicate sips of Earl Grey; the woman ignores her cup of indifferent coffee in favour of perusing the file she has just been handed. As she reads, her hands tighten imperceptibly on the file. The man keeps his gaze averted, until his visitor says:

"What the -" She pauses, reconsidering her words. "How did this happen?"

"We both know that certain things slipped through the cracks when the Cold War ended."

"When the Cold War was ending, yes. This file starts in 1995."

"I'm sure the Director could tell you as well as I that the Cold War didn't end with glasnost and perestroika. There were hangovers. There still are."

"Five years is a long time to nurse a hangover." She sighs. "No pun intended."

"No doubt you're right. If I may?" He gestures at the file, and she hands it back. He pulls a sheet of closely typed text to the top of the file. "One of those cracks, or rather the thing that slipped through it, seems to have rather inspired one of my predecessors."

She squints at it, cursing her shaky Russian. The details escape her, but the essence is clear. As is one word. _красный_. "The Red Room was destroyed. Everyone involved is dead."

"Quite. How else do you think we acquired the requisite genetic material? The facility itself, the people, were all wiped off the face of the Earth, and then from the records of the new Russia. But there were other facilities, only indirectly associated with the project, that survived. There were - cracks."

She tries not to think about the phrase 'requisite genetic material'. "And you - what? You decided to build the next generation of British covert operatives from the leavings of a failed Soviet experiment? With -" She flicks through the file again. "- a few of your own people in the mix?"

The man coughs in a decidedly unconvincing manner, and places another, thinner, file onto the table. "And of our Allies."

She stares at him. "Americans." It's not a question. She wouldn't be here at all if it didn't involve the US.

"I'm afraid so."

She can't hide her anger any longer. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I agree that the entire episode is regrettable -"

"Regrettable? Bad enough you decided you could 'repurpose' the work of the Red Room. Doing the same thing yourself is tantamount to -" She breaks off, rubs a hand over her face. "Christ."

"They were all consenting, I assure you. If not fully cognisant of the exact nature of their - contribution."

"No, I bet. It must be a real moodkiller to bring out the sample jar and say 'How'd you like to contribute your sperm to a ridiculous attempt to grow a better spy for Great Britain'."

The man makes a little moue of distaste. "I understand your anger, believe me."

"Right, so, you have at least a vague notion of just how fucked up this is."

"We do. And the program was closed down almost immediately."

"But there were -" She feels sick. "Viable embryos. Taken to full term. The project ran for over two years."

"Yes."

"There were children."

"In the end, there were only half a dozen. When the project was terminated, the children were placed into the care of the welfare state. We've been monitoring them over the years - they're healthy, oblivious of their origins and living largely unremarkable lives."

"So why tell us? Why now? Because believe me, I could have gone a lot longer without knowing this shit."

"The Russians have taken an interest."

"The Russians _know_ about this?"

"And are quite as shocked as you or I."

"You don't say." She shakes her head. "So they found out about it. And they - you think they want to restart the Red Room."

"We believe so."

"No. They wouldn't dare."

"They have made a request to have the children repatriated."

"It doesn't make sense. From what I'm reading here, there's no genetic modification, no reason to believe they'd be viable as program candidates. You said yourself the children are unremarkable."

"Largely unremarkable. However, one has shown - aptitude."

"Aptitude wouldn't be enough, and they're too old to undergo the kind of conditioning the program required. Why not simply start afresh? Why go to the trouble of trying to track down the possible - I don't even know what to call them - the possible children of former operatives?"

"One child. And one particular former operative. I suspect it appeals to their poetic side."

For a moment, she completely fails to comprehend what he's just told her. "Fuck." She scrabbles through the file until she finds one of the photographs. " _Fuck_."

"It would take a DNA test to confirm it, of course. None of the Soviet, ah, materials had names associated with them. But you have to admit, the resemblance is striking."

She stares at the girl in the photograph. At the shock of red hair flying out behind her as she runs. "So that's why you called us."

"Partly." He pushes the second file gently towards her. She doesn't open it.

"Spit it out."

"I mentioned her aptitude. Her skills, such as have manifested, indicate a bias towards her father."

She waits.

"Apparently archery is quite the popular pastime amongst teenage girls these days."

" _Fuck_." And now he's said it, she can see it in the photograph, too: the girl's blazing red hair is all Natasha, but the stubborn tilt of her chin is pure Barton. "I'm not surprised you wanted me to take this meeting. Fury'll have your hide for treating our agents like this."

"Technically, neither of them were your agents at the time. Although I'm sure he came up on your radar at much the same time as he came up on ours."

"Really. That's your excuse?"

Her British counterpart at least has the grace to look embarrassed, although she doubts the man's sincerity. "No excuses, Ms Hill. We are offering ourselves up to your mercy entirely."

Meaning he wants a favour. "What do you want from us?"

"The Russians have made a claim on the girl. We're not in a position to rebuff it without risking the exposure of the entire program. But if we come to them with a counterclaim - one not simply from the US, but from SHIELD itself - they won't dare to press their suit."

"You sure of that?"

"The only way they could claim her, when both her parents are agents of SHIELD, would be to invoke the Red Room explicitly. They won't want to do that."

"Do the agents need to be involved?"

"Not directly. DNA samples would be adequate to prove she is their child."

"You give us her DNA, we'll confirm the match. Forgive me for not trusting you with their DNA."

"I understand completely."

"And that's it? Place a counterclaim, prove paternity, watch the Russians turn tail. I'll have to run it past Fury, but after he's buried your body I'm sure he'll okay your plan."

"Ah, there is one other thing."

"Of course.”

"You understand, we are acting in the girl's best interests."

"Sure. I do, in fact, understand the rationale for not letting her fall into the hands of people who want to resurrect the Red Room."

"Exactly. So you understand why we have some concerns about her continued wellbeing."

"No."

"Ms Hill -"

"No, you made her, you keep her. SHIELD is not a goddamn nursery."

"It wouldn't be the first child of straitened circumstances that SHIELD has found shelter for -"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course not. And ordinarily, I would perhaps drop a few names, or the latitude and longitude of a safe house, or perhaps the motto of a school, but I find myself without that information to hand. Embarrassing, I admit, but in this particular case, quite reassuring."

"You're on very thin ice here. I feel you should know this."

"She is fifteen. She likes archery and 'urban' music and was recently suspended for punching a fellow pupil in the face when he made a vulgar proposition."

"I fail to see your point." She knows exactly what his point is. When Natasha was that age, she was already a killer.

"Her name is -"

"I don't want to know her name," she snaps.

"Merida," he finishes with a faint smile.

"I don't care." She glares at him. "What the hell kind of name is Merida?"

"The project's coordinator made something of a hobby of medieval history. Named each of the children after ancient Kings and Queens of Scotland. Merida was quite the warrior queen, I believe. Apocryphal, of course, but the name is charming, don't you think?"

She sighs. "We'd have to change it."

"Understandable."

"These things never turn out well."

"I have complete faith in you."

"Get me her DNA, and we'll get the Russians off your back. I'll need a couple of weeks to set up the relocation."

"We really do appreciate your help in this matter."

"You're going to owe Fury about a million favours.”

"Oh," he says, still smiling. "I don't think it'll come to that."


End file.
